


Swallow Your Pride And a Shot of Moonshine

by srmiller



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellarke, Detective Bellamy, F/M, FBI Agent Clarke, Fluff, good agent/grumpy cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srmiller/pseuds/srmiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Clarke Griffin has been working the combined PD/FBI task force for a little over a year and needs to get through to a child witness, something she's woefully unprepared to do. There's only one person who can help her, but it will require swallowing more than a little pride because Detective Bellamy Blake is one of those cops who thinks the FBI is an overreaching and pretentious agency but surely he can put aside his Dumb Opinions to help a little girl get justice...</p><p>Bellamy Blake helps because it means she'll him owe him one and it's a favor he needs to call in sooner rather than later. The drinks at Monty's bar afterwards was probably a dumb idea considering he wants to kiss the Very Special Agent as much as he wants to throttle her but he's never turned down a bad idea before and he certainly not going to start now</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swallow Your Pride And a Shot of Moonshine

Clarke stood at the one-way mirror and studied the seven-year-old girl who was sitting quietly at the kid sized table, ignoring the crayons and reams of paper and looking more than a little lost.

“I don’t know what to do,” Clarke admitted. She'd tried for the better part of fifteen minutes to get Charlotte to talk to her but had come up with almost nothing and Clarke knew that time was of essence to get the men who had thought it was a good idea to kidnap her for ransom.

“You know who you can ask,” Miller pointed out, and while his voice was neutral there was a gleam in his eyes Clarke suspected was humor.

“I’d rather die.”

Miller shrugged. “That’s fine, I’ll just get the social worker and we’ll find another way to get her kidnappers. There was a lot of evidence at the scene, wasn’t there?”

Clarke growled because Miller damn well knew there was next to no evidence aside from the child’s eye witness testimony. Testimony Special Agent Clarke Griffin of the FBI couldn’t get because she didn’t understand kids. She’d hardly ever been around children, so how exactly was she supposed to know how to get a scared little girl to tell her what had happened in the 24 hours she’d been held hostage?

“Fuck it,” Clarke muttered and turned on her heel to the sound of Miller’s chuckle.

She marched out of the room and over to Detective Bellamy Blake desk's, piled with notepads and more pens than any one person could possibly need, in the FBI/PD joint task force’s bullpen where they had both worked for more than a year. She wasn't sure why he'd agreed to the task force, his disdain for the FBI was apparent and she knew he thought the agency was stepping on local toes in order to get more press. Clarke hadn't asked him, but she thought maybe he had agreed to the move from Vice because he didn't trust her or the three other federal agents assigned to it. Keep your enemies close, Clarke thought with irony as she stopped at his desk.

He didn’t look up at her when she cleared her throat because he was an immature jerk and she was going to punch him.

“I’m going to ask you something and I want you not to be an asshole about it.”

Bellamy looked up through the lens of his glasses and his eyes narrowed. “I can’t make any promises.”

“I need your help.”

His grin was quick and a little rude. “Yeah? What can a lowly police detective do a mighty Super Special Agent can’t?”

“Talk to kids,” she bit out.

She saw his spine stiffen, the grip on his pen tightening. “Excuse me?”

“Charlotte, the girl who was kidnapped.”

“Yeah,” his voice lacked any humor or sarcasm. He’d worked just as hard to get the little girl home as she had.

“I’m not connecting with her,” she sighed. “I don’t know what to say or what to do, give me a tattooed bank robber any day.”

“You want me to talk to her,” he asked as if clarifying but she knew he had already all but agreed to do it. The hard, and often surly detective was known to melt around kids, and they in turn adored him but if he wanted to make her beg, it was only right she play her part.

“Please.”

“What do I get out of it?”

“My undying devotion,” she replied dryly. “I’ll owe you one, Blake.”

“Fine.” He threw his pen onto his desk and followed Clarke to the room they kept prepared for any kids who might find their way into the police station for whatever reason. She walked into the observation room and ignored Miller’s smirk as she watched Bellamy step into the children's room a few seconds later.

He’d gotten rid of his tie, she could see it sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans, and she noticed he’d unbuttoned the collar of his shirt.

Clarke realized it made him look less severe and glanced down at her own attire. The pantsuit and tight ponytail had probably made her look too imposing and harsh, which worked great for the tattooed bank robbers but didn’t help to get a small child to trust her.

Within seconds of sitting down Bellamy had the girl giggling.

“I don’t get how he does it,” Clarke muttered, aware she sounded like she was pouting.

“It’s cause he raised his sister,” Miller told her as if it wasn’t the kind of information which could change how you look at a person.

“What?”

“His mom died when he was eighteen,” he shrugged. “Bell got custody of his kid sister, but even before that he practically raised her. Latchkey kids, you know?”

“I didn’t know.”

“It’s not like it’s a secret or anything,” he assured her. “But it’s why he’s got the magic touch when it comes to the small humans.”

Turning up the speaker to the room Clarke listened as Bellamy started off with easy conversation, talking to her about cartoons and movies, asking for her opinion on the latest Disney Princess and doodling on one of the pieces of paper as he talked. Eventually, Charlotte picked up a crayon and started drawing too.

Ten minutes later they had the beginnings of a case against the men who had kidnapped her but Bellamy seemed to guess it was getting too much for her so he offered to get her something to drink or eat and stepped out to give her time.

Clarke intercepted him in the hallway.

“Thank you.”

Bellamy stared at her for a moment, as if he didn’t quite trust her. “Don’t mention it.”

She tried a smile, “I guess it turns out there is something cops can do agents can’t.”

He returned her smile with a grin of his own. “This is what I’ve been telling you, Clarke.”

“Don’t get a big head, Bellamy. I’m still a better shot than you.”

“Sure, whatever you say. Just don’t forget you owe me one now.”

And just like that, she thought maybe they weren’t exactly enemies anymore.

#########################

Bellamy walked towards Clarke’s meticulous desk at what should have been the end of his shift if it wasn't for the asshole in the interrogation room who was making Bellamy's life, and case, more difficult than it should have been.

Her work space was organized and clean, the only personal touch was a picture of her with a black man, their arms wrapped around each other as they grinned at the camera. He wasn’t sure if it was a possible boyfriend and it bugged Bellamy it might matter to him so his voice came out harsher than he’d intended. “You still owe me that favor?”

She blinked up at him, her eyes taking a moment to focus. “Yeah.”

He leaned his hip against the edge of her desk, crossing his arms to keep from reaching out to touch her. It was easier to hate her when she was a prissy agent honing in on his turf but her genuine concern over Charlotte's case and the ruthless way she had investigated it had, much to Bellamy's dismay, softened his opinion of her. “I’m calling it in.”

She turned her chair to look at him and he thought he saw suspicion in her eyes. “What do you need me to do?”

He reached down to pick up one of her pens and started running it through his fingers. “I need you to help me with this prick I’m trying to get to talk to me.”

Clarke tilted her head, looking as if she was trying not to smile which was something he saw her do often. “You think I have a way with pricks?”

Bellamy huffed out a laugh. “Maybe with this kind. His name is Cage Wallace, you might have heard of him.”

There was recognition in her eyes and she stood up and opened one of her desk drawers. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him and as you probably suspected, I’ve met him. He runs in the same circles as my mother.”

He couldn’t help but be surprised at how easily she seemed to agree. “You’ll do it?”

“I won’t be happy about it, but I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” and he didn’t care how sincere he sounded. “I tried to talk to him but he seemed to recognize pretty quickly I wasn’t worthy of his respect or attention. I can’t tell if he’s racist or just an asshole.”

“Oh, he’s both,” she assured him as she scooped up her hair and twisted the long strands, using a handful of the bobby pins she’d taken from her drawer to keep them in place. The result was something classier and more sedate than it had been with those long, blonde curls falling around her shoulders.

Personally, he preferred it loose to up. Not that he’d spent a lot of time thinking about Clarke Griffin’s hair or anything.

She slipped on a pair of pearl earrings she’d dug out of her purse and she looked so unlike herself he began to feel guilty for asking for her help. “You look weird.”

 _Smooth Blake_ , he thought with a wince. “Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it,” she assured him as she pulled on the fitted jacket she’d draped over the back of her chair. “The country club look works for some people but honestly, it makes me want to crawl out of my skin.”

“Thank you.”

She shrugged, “I owed you one.”

“Talking to a cute kid is different than talking to the prick,” he pointed out as they headed towards the hall which led to the interrogation room.

“Honestly? I was way more out of my element talking to the kid than I will be talking to the prick.”

Mollified he gestured towards the door. “Well then, don’t let me stop you.”

He did as she had done when he’d talked to Charlotte. Settling in behind the glass he watched as she glided into the room, affected surprise before smiling bright and warm at the well-dressed man sitting at the metal table.

She charmed the man like it was the easiest thing she’d ever done. Clarke asked after his family, about his business, and with her easy rapport slowly lulled him into a false sense of safety and comfort.

More than once she’d glanced at the mirror as if communicating with him, rolling her eyes when Wallace wasn’t paying attention but when the suspect looked at her she was all simpering female attention.

Clarke was cold blooded and it made him want to grin.

When Bellamy realized he'd gotten what he needed out of the man he walked out of the observation room and let himself into the interrogation room all frowns and gruffness. “If you’re done flirting Agent Griffin, I need to talk to you.”

Clarke flinched and sent Wallace apologetic look, “I’m sorry. Come see me before you leave? It was wonderful to catch up with you.”

Bellamy turned and walked out, Clarke following close behind him as the door shut.

“Thanks for pulling me out, I think he was going to start hitting on me.”

“Start?” Bellamy repeated. “He started hitting on you the moment you walked into that room.”

“He did?”

Bellamy was finding it hard to believe she hadn’t realized the very obvious and pathetic come ons coming from the slightly older man. “Yeah, he was.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t realize it. I assume you got what you needed? Is that why you pulled me out?”

“Yeah, I got what I needed. That was impressive by the way,” he told her as she immediately began pulling the pins out of her hair and sticking them into the pocket of her pants. She left the earrings in and he thought maybe he was getting a look at the Real Clarke Griffin for the first time and he didn't like what it was doing to his heart.

“So was how you helped Charlotte last week. I never could have gotten her to open up like that,” she paused and pursed her lips and he wasn’t thinking about kissing her. “Miller told me about your sister.”

He grinned, quick and bright, and saw her blink. “What about her? Because there’s a lot to say about O.”

“O?”

“Octavia,” he clarified.

“He just said you raised her.”

“For better or worse,” Bellamy admitted as they walked back towards the bull pen and stood near his desk. “She’s pretty cool, as human beings go. She’s traveling right now and I was forced to join twitter to keep updated because otherwise I wouldn’t hear from her for weeks at a time.”

“That’s sweet.”

He smirked. “I’m aware it makes me sound like a grumpy, 55-year-old man.”

“It works for you,” she informed him so casually he almost missed it, but before he could even consider following up on it she pushed her hair behind her shoulder and sighed. “I need a drink after spending that much time with a guy who doesn’t know the name of his caddy. Do you know of any really good dive bars where I can get paint thinner in a shot glass?”

Bellamy laughed and grabbed his leather jacket. “I know just the place.”

#########################

Once at the bar Monty swore wasn't a hole in the wall, Bellamy led Clarke to booth near the back and left her there only for as long as it took to steal a bottle of Monty's Moonshine from the bar and grab two glasses. Learning from experience it was best to let people experience what was technically alcohol for themselves he didn't give her any warning before pouring her a shot and sliding it across the table.

She coughed and nearly dropped the glass in her hurry to set it down. “Holy shit, that’s disgusting.”

Bellamy laughed and refilled her glass and his. “Your taste buds will die off, don’t worry.”

“I’m pretty sure this is the alcohol they used to sterilize wounds in the Civil War. Why would anyone choose to drink this?” she asked before tossing back the shot and grimacing as the alcohol hit her tongue and burned down her throat.

“Monty is a genius, he’s Mensa and everything, but as desperately as he wants to make decent alcohol, he can’t. Don’t get me wrong, it’ll get you drunk off your ass, but it won’t taste good going down or coming back up in the morning.”

“Oh God,” she pushed the glass away. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“You did ask for paint thinner,” he reminded her with a smile. “Don’t say I never came through for you.”

“The last time I ask you for anything.”

The promise was solemnly made but there was that hidden smile at the corner of her lips and since he’d had two shots himself he didn’t think to stop himself before asking, “Why do you always stop yourself from smiling?”

Clarke looked at him, eyes sharp and wary.

“I mean, I know I’m hilarious,” he added to ease the moment, refilling both their glasses. “So it’s okay to laugh.”

She smiled, but it was a little unsure. “It’s hard for people take me seriously,” she started carefully, spinning the glass between her fingers on the table. “I’m the rich white girl who got her job from her mom the senator, right?”

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable because he was pretty sure he’d said that at least once himself and had heard others say it more times than he could count. “So you don’t smile?”

“I have to prove to everyone around me that I’m good at my job, that I deserve it, and if go around laughing and giggling and smiling people will think I’m playing instead of working. When offered the chance to be the Ice Queen or the Princess, I picked Ice Queen.”

“I don’t know,” he reached across the table to tap the pearl at her ear. “I kind of like the princess.”

She chuckled and he thought maybe she didn’t quite believe him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You do that,” he ordered with a smile. “Ready for your next shot?”

Clarke groaned as he lifted his shot but she picked up hers and tapped her glass to his before downing it.

“I’m going to regret this in the morning.”

“Probably,” and he still wasn’t thinking about kissing her. "But think of the bonding we'll do in the mean time."

"You're aware you're an asshole, right?"

"But I'm righteous asshole," he corrected, unconcerned at the accusation. "Which makes it harder to hate me."

"No, it really doesn't."

Bellamy laughed. "You want the entire sob story of why I am the way I am?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"My mom was a mess. She wasn't mentally ill or abused, she just couldn't get her shit together and when your mom forgets to pay bills and feed your sister or wake you up to go to school you figure out you can do one of two things: do nothing or do something. I guess it kind of became my maxim and when my mom died and Octavia was left without parents I asked myself if I wanted to do nothing or do something."

"You did something."

"I joined the academy because it would be a good job with steady pay and decent benefits, and after a lot of wrangling I was able to bring her back home and then she graduated high school, wasn't ready to go to college, so she took half of the money I'd set aside and decided she'd see some of the world before she figured out what she wanted to do in it."

"That's impressive," she murmured and held up a hand when he was about to argue. "And don't say that's what anyone would do in the same situation because we both know that's bullshit. You stood up when you could have backed down and that means something."

He leaned back on the barely cushioned bench and studied her. "Not talking about me anymore, huh?"

She grimaced. "Not only you. My mom is a politician which means she's really good at not telling the whole truth. She wants to do good, don't get me wrong, but she doesn't always go about it the right away. When my dad died a while back my mom hid a lot of the truth about the how and the why. She could have stood up, told the truth, been honest, but instead she backed down and held onto the lies. Looking back, I think she did that as much for herself as for me."

"How did he die?"

"He was murdered," she admitted and he did resist the urge to reach across the table to take her hand, squeezing it once for comfort. "Corporate espionage, or so they thought. Turns out he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time but because my mom didn't tell the police everything-she didn't want to ruin his good name by suggesting he might have been selling secrets-the cops didn't have all the information. They never caught the person who did it. I don't think they ever will."

"You ever go over the case? Try to figure it out yourself?"

"I usually pull it out once a year, on the anniversary of his death, but it hasn't led to anything new."

"You should let me look at it," he suggested and watched the surprise cross her face. "Might help to have a fresh pair of eyes on it."

"Thank you."

"I'm a cop," he shrugged. "Catching bad guys is how I get the girls."

The joke had the effect of taking the sadness out of her eyes. She laughed and he appreciated the sound as it filled their booth. "Right, naturally that's the only reason why you'd help me out."

"It's certainly not because I like you."

"No," she smiled as if she knew better, but it was likely she had no idea what the truth was. "Of course not. I don't like you either."

"Good, let's get some water and then we'll do another shot."

#########################

Clarke had been having A Day. Her phone had updated over the night and the alarm ap she'd been using had been deleted which meant she'd overslept. The only reason she'd woken up at all was because Bellamy had called her wondering where she was. "You can't be murdered," he'd informed her. "I don't have time to take on another case right now."

One of the agents and one of the detectives had gotten into a pissing match and she had three missed calls from her mother and when all she wanted was to be left alone she had to put up with Murphy, one of the detectives, making snide remarks about her mother who was running non stop ads on TV for her reelection. It was all she could do to hold onto her self-control as Murphy made some asshole comment, like he had at least once a week since they’d been assigned to the same unit almost a year ago. She couldn’t fight back, couldn’t snap at him. She knew if she did she’d be labeled as emotional, over reactive. They would say she couldn’t handle the job.

She was fully prepared to ignore him and had turned towards her desk when she heard a voice behind her.

“Lay off her, Murphy.”

Turning around she saw Bellamy walk into the bull pen with two coffees from the cafe across the street. “Just because she could do your job in her sleep doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole about it.”

Murphy studied Bellamy for a moment and Clarke confessed to trying to figure out what his angle was. They'd been friendly since the night they'd shared a bottle of very bad alcohol but he while he had texted her bad puns and she sent him movie trivia they hadn't interacted more at work than they had in the past but he looked relaxed and unguarded as he walked towards her. She nearly cried when he held out one of the coffees to her.

"I owe you life," she told me as she took a grateful sip.

“Careful, princess, I might take you up on that."

"I don't know what I did to earn this but I'm going to do it more often."

"You were having a crappy day, so if that's what you want I'm not going to stop you. So, it turns out my sister is back in the country and I’m meeting her and a few of our friends at Monty’s for paint thinner. Want to join?”

Clarke was stunned for a minute, aware of what he was doing. He could have texted her, e-mailed her, hell he could have waited until they had a little more privacy, but instead he’d done it while most of the bull pen’s attention was on her, on him after he'd scolded Murphy.

He was letting everyone know he was on her side, and while she would emphatically tell anyone who would listen she didn’t need anyone to protect her, she had to admit there was something to be said about someone having her back.

“How can I say no to Monty’s paint thinner?”

Bellamy grinned and raised his cup to her in a mock toast, “Exactly. I thought I’d head out in about eight if that works for you?”

“Yeah,” her shift ended at seven but she’d originally planned to work late so she started reorganizing and prioritizing what she had to do. “I’ll meet you there?”

“We can ride over together, save the environment.”

“I didn’t know you were so green.”

“I’m not, but if you drive that saves me like five bucks in gas money.”

She laughed, “Classy.”

“I’ll buy you a drink when we get there.”

“Doesn’t Monty give you all your drinks for free,” she challenged and he just winked and headed back to his desk.

Later, when they were walking into the bar, she stayed close to Bellamy. It was one thing when they’d come by themselves, but she understood she was meeting his sister and his friends and while they weren’t dating it still somehow felt important and in the back of her mind she was the princess pretending to be a pauper and she was terrified they would realize she didn’t belong there.

“You need to relax,” Bellamy spoke into Clarke’s ear as he led her through the crowd with a hand on her back.

“That’s what the paint thinner’s for,” she shouted over her shoulder to be heard over the metal band currently making noise on the tiny stage in the corner.

He laughed and Clarke could feel the vibration of it running down her spine. “Fair point. That’s O,” he pointed to a willowy brunette leaning on the bar talking to Monty with a mile-wide grin on her face.

“And the guy playing with her hair?”

She thought she heard a growl come from Bellamy. “I don’t know him.”

“This is going to be fun.”

“Shut up, princess,” he warned but there was little heat in it as Octavia yelled, having spotted him, and nearly tackled him as she jumped into his arms for a hug.

She leaned back and gave him a loud kiss on his cheek before looking over and seeing Clarke. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Octavia, Bellamy’s sister.”

“Clarke Griffin, Bellamy’s co-worker.”

“God, not another cop," she released her brother with an aggravated noise. "I need new friends.”

“It’s not our fault pot’s still illegal,” Bellamy informed her dryly and Clarke suspected it was an oft repeated conversation from the way Octavia merely rolled her eyes. “Who is the guy?”

“Huh? Oh, that’s Lincoln. I met him on the flight over and I’m pretty sure I’m going to marry him.”

“Jesus, O.”

Octavia just grinned and grabbed Clarke’s hand. “I’ll introduce you to him, since I’m sure you’ll be nicer than my brother.”

“I’ll be nice!” Bellamy argued but grinned down at Clarke as she was dragged away.

By the time he ordered and made it through the crowd to where his sister and Clarke were talking to the big, Mohawk-and-tattooed man who looked at Octavia as if she’d created starlight.

It was hard to dislike a man who looked at his sister like that.

“Monty’s bringing moonshine,” he told Clarke and maybe it hadn’t been completely necessary to get that close to her but she didn’t wear perfume or any strong shampoos so he had to almost be touching her to catch her scent.

“Oh God.”

“Are you trying to kill her?” Jasper asked as he settled on the other side of Octavia. He was grumpy and Bellamy could only guess it was because Octavia had brought a guy to the bar, and Jasper's long standing crush would remain unrequited.

“We came here not too long ago,” Bellamy explained when Monty set the shots on the bar. “She can hold her liquor better than you can.”

“Challenge accepted,” Jasper announced and reached for what should have been Bellamy’s shot. “First one under the table loses.”

Before he could down the drink Bellamy swiped it out his hand. “We have to work tomorrow, so no one’s drinking anyone under the table.”

“Next time,” Clarke promised and managed to not even wince after she’d emptied the glass.

Octavia reached out for a high five which Clarke gave. “Damn, I’m impressed. She’s a good catch, Bell.”

“She’s not-“ he tried to explain but Octavia was already turning to talk to Lincoln.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Gimpy here called me for a ride.”

“Fuck you, Miller.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes at Miller and Raven, the former made a b-line to the bar and Monty and the latter pushed Jasper off his stool so she could sit down.

“Clarke?”

“Raven.”

Bellamy looked between the two women who seemed to be torn between surprise and confusion. “You guys know each other?”

Raven laughed, “She’s the one who kneed Finn in the balls. I’m buying you a drink, Clarke.”

“You’re the one Finn dated while he was with Raven?”

“I didn’t know,” she quickly assured him, like his opinion might matter to her. “We hadn’t been dating for that long when I started getting suspicious. When I found out about Raven I broke it off.”

“After kneeing him in the balls,” Raven repeated, grinning liked she’d never been more proud of anything in her life.

“I don’t get it, how does a guy that boring manage to date two of the hottest chics I’ve ever met at the same time? What am I missing?”

“Aw,” Raven grinned, tugging him forward to give him a friendly smack on the lips. “You’re pretty too.”

“Thanks,” Bellamy rolled his eyes before looking down at Clarke who looked amused by the interaction. “But seriously.”

“He was safe,” Clarke admitted. “And after the disaster of a relationship I’d had before that, safe seemed like a good idea.”

“And now?”

“Safe didn’t end well,” she informed with a smile. An actual smile which might have been a little flirtatious. Or maybe it was Monty’s moonshine hitting his bloodstream, it was hard to tell. “So, how long have Monty and Miller been a thing?”

“They aren’t,” Bellamy grumbled. “Because they’re both idiots and neither of them will make the first move.”

“Christmas in July party and mistletoe,” Clarke suggested. “That’s how I got my friend Wells to finally get with his now wife Harper.”

“That’s the guy in the picture on your desk?” he asked, grateful he wasn’t going to have to ask about him and sound creepy or nosy.

“Yeah, we’ve been friends for eons so I knew nothing less than a kick in the ass was going to get him to make a move on Harper, who could kick his ass.”

“Girls who kick ass are hot.”

“Agreed.”

“Girls who carry guns are hot, too.”

“Agreed." Her grin was quick and bright and he knew it wasn’t the moonshine which made him lightheaded at the sight. "Guys with guns aren’t so bad either.”

“Yeah?” he asked. He knew his grin probably made him look a little foolish and because he wasn't sure how to follow up without just kissing her in the middle of the bar surrounded by his moron friends he gestured with hands to the pool table. “How about a game? Loser buys the next round.”

“You’re not going to feel emasculated when I kick your ass?”

“No,” he admitted as he followed her towards the pool table, his hand once again low on her back and he could feel her lean against it. “But I might get a little turned on.”

Clarke laughed and while they played his friends would come over, give them a hard time, then wander away. They drank beer, exchanged barbs and jokes while they tried for best angles and blamed the floor's tilt when they missed a show. When he won, she pointed out there were hardly a lot of pool tables in her life while growing up and he had an unfair advantage.

“Finally, being poor as worked to my benefit,” he teased. “So, do you feel emasculated that I kicked your ass?”

“No,” she admitted as she picked up her beer, her eyes bright and happy and focused on him. “But I might be a little turned on.”

“Jesus, princess. You’re going to kill me.”

"Just promise to kiss me before you die."

Bellamy nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets so he didn't do anything stupid like drag her away to some dark corner and see if he could get past second base. "I promise."

"Good."


End file.
